


no sweeter innocence

by 4_Jwj



Category: SF9 (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23712385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4_Jwj/pseuds/4_Jwj
Summary: fellas is it gay to fall in love with your best friend
Relationships: Kang Chanhee | Chani/Kim Seokwoo | Rowoon
Comments: 12
Kudos: 79





	no sweeter innocence

**Author's Note:**

> au where everything is the same except its 2014. this is important.

it happens sometimes, when they’re messing around. they bicker a lot. never seriously, but seokwoo will have him trapped in a headlock or grabbing at his hair a couple of times a week, and sometimes - not all the time, but enough to notice - when chanhee has him on the floor, knees on either side of his hips, hands somehow keeping those broad arms pinned over his head, he reacts - differently. wide eyes, breath gone suddenly quiet, he just waits. he puts it down to tiredness, because seokwoo is almost always exhausted when chanhee can get control of him like this, but it’s like all the fight goes out of him. complete surrender. 

it’s not weird, really. he figures its just a thing seokwoo likes, and sometimes he’s strung up enough to remember when it’s chanhee on top of him, instead of

(he can’t say a woman, or at least not just a woman, because he’s seen him with - other men, actors or singers they meet in passing, casual touches and sometimes leaving separately, coming home in the morning. it’s fine, they all do it, it’s his problem if he thinks anything’s different about seokwoo because he does it with other men) 

someone else

(he does think about it. more than any of the other members he can’t get it out of his head, seokwoo’s hands on a stranger, his head thrown back in ecstasy. hates himself a little for it, judging seokwoo for seeking comfort in touch when he knows how much it means to him, somebody else’s warmth on him keeping him grounded. can’t help but look at his smooth skin and wonder how he lets just anybody see it bare, run their filthy - )

so he’s used to it. seokwoo strangely pliant under him, a galaxy behind those wide eyes as he keeps himself in check. what he’s not used to is - 

liking it. there’s something triumphant, powerful in seokwoo’s stillness, chanhee’s complete control. without thinking, he trails his fingers down seokwoo’s arm, over the swell of his biceps. eyes fixed on him, he can’t miss the small sigh that parts his lips for a breath before he presses them shut, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheek when they close, briefly. his eyes are wide open the second after that, flooded with panic and still, still he doesn’t move. chanhee’s grip on his arms is gone, fingers wrapped there loosely instead, just feeling. 

he’s fascinated, seeing maybe what seokwoo’s - what his partners have seen, when he’s vulnerable. finds him unbearably beautiful like this, head tilted back, neck bared and waiting. all his hard lines softened in surrender. chanhee’s fingers slip lower, under the sleeves of his shirt and it’s such a weird place to touch, his arms, but his skin is soft and chanhee wonders what it would feel like under his mouth, instead.

and that’s when he has to go because - 

what the _fuck_ \- 

seokwoo won’t stop him, either. his eyes have fallen shut, chest rising and falling with slow breaths. without looking at chanhee he can’t know, how close he is to leaning down, brushing his lips over the mole on his chin. how badly he wants - 

what the _fuck_ \- 

he gets up then, yanks his hands off of seokwoo and scrambles to stand up but this is worse, because seokwoo still doesn’t move and now he’s looking down on him, on his hair in a halo around him and his clear eyes looking up at him, finally. he does what he can, runs out of the room without bothering to explain himself because he doesn’t know why he’s acting the way he’s acting either. 

after that, everything is weird. not because seokwoo acts any differently, or even chanhee, but because it’s not the same. 

touching seokwoo is weird, because it’s never enough anymore. seokwoo pulls him to his side just as much as he always does, but he’s only irritated when he has to pull away, and chanhee can’t say he’s memorized the weight of his arm over his shoulders or the hard lines of his chest against his back. 

sleeping with seokwoo, when he has to, is weird, because he’s so much more aware of how warm, how comfortable he is. doesn’t know why seokwoo’s arms are so safe, especially when he nearly suffocates him pressing him into his chest in his sleep. they wake up tangled in each other, chanhee’s shirt twisted uncomfortably around his body as seokwoo’s hand forces it’s way under, fingers splayed over his back, and it feels _good_. he never wants to get out of bed, except maybe when seokwoo’s wrapped himself around him and made them both over warm, but this time he presses his nose farther into seokwoo’s shoulder, hopes - 

gets what he wants, when seokwoo tightens his grip in his sleep, pulls him closer. one of his thighs, so much thicker than chanhee’s own, has pressed itself between his legs, but chanhee’s flushed from their combined body heat, and nothing else. 

(definitely not how tempting it is to rock his hips up into that, his cock half hard in the morning and seokwoo’s shorts riding up his thighs, stretched taunt over muscle and, well, some fat because he’s been lazy about going to the gym lately. chanhee’s maybe been a bad influence there, keeping him glued to the couch with his toes tucked under his knees, sucking him into the drama he’s been watching. he’s always thought seokwoo looks even better bulkier, broader and happier, because he hates watching what he eats and how much he drinks anyway) 

warm, lazy and a little turned on (coincidently) he goes back to sleep, lulled by the feeling that nothing can go wrong here, seokwoo’s arms and the quiet light before dawn. 

he’s wrong, horribly wrong and everything gets worse in his sleep, he wakes up halfway to finishing, clothed cock rolling against seokwoo’s bare thigh and he’s never been more grateful for the fogginess of just waking up and how long it takes him, because as much as he tries to remember that moment in the seconds before he pushes seokwoo out of bed, he can’t really, and it’s better this way. he shouldn’t know what seokwoo feels like, not that intimately. he’s never offered that part of himself to chanhee, and chanhee has never wanted it 

(a lie, bold faced and ugly. he wants it now and he wanted it then, when they met. seokwoo had been so handsome, kind and patient with him and chanhee loved it, all of his attention on him, the smile and the laugh that were his. he’d wanted more. the first time he ever thinks about sex with someone else he thinks about seokwoo, pushes it down in shame and disgust, but not quick enough. chanhee is never quick enough)

seokwoo whines about being shoved onto the floor, but once he’s there he doesn’t seem to hate it, rolls onto his back and settles down with his arm over his head. slowly, chanhee pulls the sheets over him, tilts his head to look at seokwoo on the ground. 

it’s a mistake - holy _shit_ is it a mistake - because he’s devastating like that. the sleepiness is still clinging to him, has to be why he hasn’t noticed he’s hard, long proud line of his cock stark against his shorts, and with the rest of his limbs splayed out on the floor, careless with how sloppy he looks, chanhee has never seen anything hotter in his fucking life. half asleep, he runs his tongue over his lips and rolls onto his stomach. there’s no way he can deal with this right now, or ever.

seokwoo’s alarm goes off minutes, maybe an hour later, startles him out of a hazy, sort of in between sleep. from the floor, seokwoo groans, sounds like he’s shuffling around or getting up. after, a hand tugging the covers from up over chanhee’s head, letting the light in. 

“hey, chanhee, get up,” his name sounds good like that, low and rough right by his ear. he makes a weak attempt to swat at seokwoo, pull the covers back up. gets a laugh that’s just as good, rumbling out of seokwoo as he pulls the covers further down, slaps chanhee’s ass. 

“c’mon, baby, it’s time to wake up,” except he really can’t get up now, not after - 

“i’ll go first, then,” and thank god, seokwoo’s footsteps out into the hall, faintly the sound of the bathroom door closing. 

(chanhee wonders if he’s still hard, if he takes care of himself in the shower or just wills it down with his obscene discipline. chanhee can’t, has to touch himself when he thinks about seokwoo in the early light of the morning, lazy and so fucking beautiful. thinks about seokwoo in the shower too, what those large hands look like on his own body, maybe teasing himself, sliding down his chest - and now he’s just projecting) 

after that first time, the first couple of times he thinks about sex and seokwoo and sexandseokwoo he gets better at pushing it down. at catching himself when he thinks about men, the flat planes of a strong chest under his hands or a low voice in his hear, because he’s sixteen and he doesn’t have time for it, for something that feels big, that he doesn’t understand.

now, it feels silly. he doesn’t - get over it, with time, so much as realize there’s nothing to get over. he does push the thing with seokwoo away, buries it somewhere it can’t see the light because that still feels wrong. seokwoo is his - friend, first - and he knows him, that his hands shake after three cups of coffee and that he can’t stand being underdressed but doesn’t like wearing shoes. that he laughs when he’s nervous or scared, but it doesn’t sound anything like his real laugh and he covers that up with the back of his hand. that he’s so much more than all his parts, large arms or high cheek bones or pretty, heart shaped lips and deserves to be seen for that, especially by chanhee.

so he smothers it, whatever the thing, the infatuation with seokwoo is and tries to be a better friend, first. it almost works, good enough for years until - 

it isn’t. until he can’t look at seokwoo without seeing, thinking of home. 

they’re doing a terrible job keeping quiet. it’s late, and seokwoo only came out to tell chanhee to go to sleep, be the responsible adult and take care of his health but now he’s huddled up to him, knees knocking under the blanket while he clutches onto chanhee’s shoulders, shaking with laughter. it’s not that funny but chanhee can’t stop, looking at seokwoo and seokwoo’s smile and seokwoo’s eyes screwed shut. he buries his face in seokwoo’s chest, muffles his giggles there. 

the grip on his shoulders gradually loosens, seokwoo’s arms coming down to settle around him instead. he keeps his nose pressed to seokwoo’s shirt, lets his arms wrap around his waist and stays there, catches bits and pieces of the drama still playing. louder, right next to his ear the steady beating of seokwoo’s heart if he listens for it. 

over his shoulder, seokwoo lets out a small, quiet gasp at something onscreen, pulls chanhee just that much closer to him. chanhee lets him do it, his own fingers tangle in the fabric of seokwoo’s shirt. he smells clean, mostly, like the laundry detergent they use that’s supposed to smell like the ocean and the plain, inoffensive soap he prefers to some of the other’s scented body wash. against his cheek, the soft, worn fabric of the shirt he wore to sleep and it’s unfair, how much of his home is in seokwoo. 

if he does something stupid, gives in to the desire to slip his hands under seokwoo’s shirt and press his nose into his chest, he looses - 

everything, so much that it doesn’t matter. 

he ends up in seokwoo’s lap anyway, after he pulls away enough to ask chanhee if he wants to see the rest of the drama. he doesn’t, really, wants to lose seokwoo’s arms around him even less. he can’t say that, though, starts to move away anyway before seokwoo sees - 

something, in his eyes or his mouth that makes him hold onto him, shift and manoeuvre him just enough to turn him around before he rests his chin back on his shoulder, splays his large hands over his stomach. it’s nice, still, with seokwoo’s chest to his back and his legs on either side of him. 

too nice, after the moving and turning wakes him up from a warm, hazy sort of half sleep in seokwoo’s arms. too warm, the weight of seokwoo’s palms on his stomach, his heat everywhere around him. he can’t be imagining the skittering of seokwoo’s fingers across his abdomen but he has to be imagining it means what he wants it to, and maybe even that it’s happening at all with how right it feels. he has no idea what’s happening in the drama but his eyes are fixed on it, the dim glow from the screen and the shadows it casts on the keyboard. 

slowly, he tangles the fingers of both his hands with seokwoo’s, squeezes them to stop their shaking. there’s no tension on screen, and seokwoo had been dead tired when he came out, but he can’t - he can’t be nervous, just from this. chanhee shouldn’t be, either, they do this all the time

(and he only gets the butterflies in his stomach, crawling up his throat sometimes, when they’re alone or when they’re not but seokwoo looks at him like they are, or it makes no difference. he can’t see him now, but he thinks, hopes he might be wearing that emotion that wrenched chanhee halfway in love him) 

he does relax, leans more of his weight on chanhee’s back when he turns to whisper something in his ear. the warmth of it, seokwoo’s breath over his cheek and his hands wrapped tightly around him, sends a shiver down his spine seokwoo has to feel. chanhee nods, turns to look at seokwoo and ask him - 

if they shouldn’t go to bed now, really, when neither of them is paying attention to the drama. it dies in his throat, when he would have whispered it against seokwoo’s lips. it would be so easy, to close his eyes and finally know what home tastes like, how it loves. he doesn’t know if seokwoo’s grip or his has their hands in a vice, but they both let go at the same time, seokwoo’s hands hanging awkwardly above chanhee’s lap. 

“we should - go to bed, i don’t even want to know what time it is,” seokwoo has to stop to swallow, his voice a hoarse whisper that might be by choice. chanhee nods, pulls the blanket up with him when he gets up. seokwoo’s hands brush against him when he goes to close the laptop, whispers goodnight from somewhere below him. neither of them really look at each other, after that. 

this is where it should end, probably, but it still takes him too long to fall asleep with how exhausted he is, feeling like he left something unfinished. 

they fit, barely, but that’s the point. it has to be him and seokwoo, or it would be seokwoo alone and they don’t have time for that - 

or something. whatever it was could have, should have waited 

(and chanhee has completely forgotten what it is, will let himself be shuffled from one car to the next today thinking about seokwoo sliding his pants, along with his shorts down his legs and nothing else) 

because nothing, absolutely nothing could be worth squeezing himself into their tiny shower with seokwoo and all of his bare skin pressed against his. just seeing it, a foot away and slowly revealed to him by seokwoo’s big hands has him fumbling, tugging uselessly at the knot in his pants 

(he knows, somewhere in his brain that isn’t on right now, that seokwoo is hesitant because he doesn’t like being exposed, and it probably has nothing to do with chanhee specifically - but all the wrong parts of his brain that are lit up see his eyelashes lowered against his cheek, the bangs he lets fall over his eyes and thinks it looks a lot like teasing, and that it’s working) 

he gets them off, tosses them onto the floor. his shorts are next, and suddenly he’s really starting to regret the order he chose to do this is in, standing in front of seokwoo in just a large t-shirt that barely covers his cock. it doesn’t help, that seokwoo is just staring at him, pretty features perfectly blank instead of turning the water on, or doing anything at all, actually. it makes it really hard to stare at him, the flat planes and hardened curves of his body, fine line of hair trailing down his abdomen - 

he does turn around, then, and fiddles with the temperature as chanhee yanks off his shirt. this is already taking way too long, and neither of them has spoken since they stepped inside the bathroom. chanhee thinks he might squeak, if he does, but he doesn’t know why seokwoo is silent. 

in the shower, he feels more skin than water, both warm against him as he tips his head back into the spray. he can’t see seokwoo, like this, but he doesn’t need to, the shape of him wet and clinging to him. his arms, when they move to grab something behind him and he tries not groan, really, but it’s loud enough to be heard over the water, and seokwoo - 

does the worst possible thing now, stills with his chest pressed right up against him, his arms caging him in. he’s not wearing any clothes to clutch at, suppress the shivers that run through him in spite of the warm water. 

“chanhee, are you okay?” he nods, because that’s all he can do, and if he makes it out of this alive he’ll spend the rest of his life waiting for an award. didn’t succumb to his dick under extreme duress, or something. 

seokwoo finishes grabbing what he was looking for, squeezes a bit of shampoo in his hands before rubbing them into - 

chanhee’s scalp. the protest he was going to make comes out as a - another groan, charitably, although he’s going to give himself away if seokwoo keeps pressing into his scalp like this, deep circles that send his hands scrambling for purchase where they usually would, on his back. the water has them slipping down, lower, tracing the curve of his spine to the swell of his ass before he yanks them back up and learns to dig his fingers in hard, feels seokwoo’s smooth skin give in under him. 

“easier this way,” seokwoo’s words are slurred, low somewhere above him. strong hands still work through his hair, nails dragging along his scalp and pulling low, choked off moans from him. he’s pretty sure his hair is clean, but seokwoo is so thorough, tipping his head back again for him, letting the water wash the shampoo out while his large hands frame his face, fingers resting over his check and pressing into the back of his neck. chanhee can’t even let him, doesn’t feel like he’s in charge at all and -

fucking loves it, the heat curling over his skin, tension pooling in his muscles. seokwoo’s works conditioner into his hair with the same slow, deliberate movements until he’s leaning up, tilting his head towards seokwoo with his eyes still closed while his fingers leave deep grooves in his back. seokwoo presses warm, wet lips to his forehead and lets them rest there, slides his hands down chanhee’s neck and shoulders, just enough pressure to push chanhee into him, chest to chest and so much wet skin against his - 

it’s all he can see when he cracks his eyes open and his legs are starting to shake, up on his toes to be just that much closer to seokwoo. his lips still hover over his skin, trail lightly over his hair when seokwoo moves again. the hands on his back ease him down until his feet are back on the ground, stop and curl around his hips, just holding him before seokwoo pulls away 

(he’s dimly aware that this time, there’s no way he’s alone, and maybe that’s why he lets it happen. maybe it’s more than just how good he feels right now, but that for once he knows, for sure, that what he’s feeling, what seokwoo is feeling are the same) 

he runs the loofa over him just as slowly, starts at his neck and keeps pausing, asking for permission at his shoulders, the crook of his arm, over his stomach. he has to make himself look at him, pry his fingers out of the bruises they’ve left in seokwoo’s back to reach up and cup his cheeks, run his fingers over the shell of his ear. he pushes wet strands of hair out of his eyes, slicks them back and almost breaks his own heart, seokwoo’s wide and anxious eyes on him

(it’s a little _this whole time?_ and a lot _finally_ , but mostly it hurts, seokwoo paralyzed by chanhee in all the wrong ways, and chanhee needs to make it right) 

everything that’s happened and it’s the easiest thing in the world, whispering yes and letting seokwoo slump into his arms, all the tension leaving his shoulders and pushing them that last bit closer. 

seokwoo turns him around, rubs the rough sponge over his back before he moves onto his legs and chanhee almost thinks he won’t do it, even though they’ve gone this far, but he holds his breath anyway, and seokwoo does. he has to bend over, lean more of himself against chanhee’s back to reach down and around, but his hands trace soapy patterns there too, over the curve of his ass, around his hips and - 

chanhee _whimpers_ , seokwoo’s bare hand stroking gently up his cock. he has to brace himself, hands scrambling on the tile when seokwoo twists on the upstroke, cups his hand when chanhee bucks into it. it’s wet, slick with soap and so fucking good, because it’s seokwoo. he turns to, starts to turn to - just look at him again, maybe, _kiss him_ first, probably - but seokwoo’s weight on his back stops him, his face tucked into the crook of chanhee’s shoulder, lips pressing his words into the skin there and chanhee wants, needs to hear those words, break this oppressive silence. 

he wants this, seokwoo wants this, seokwoo’s hand is on his dick and it feels incredible. he’s tired of walking on eggshells and being afraid and not telling seokwoo the truth, all of it. it’s still embarrassing, almost humiliating but he stops trying to swallow the whines and pleas seokwoo’s gentle strokes pull out of him, lets himself thrust into his hand without pulling back. 

it’s good, but if he’s being honest with himself now too, he wants more. reaches a hand up into seokwoo’s hair as an anchor, pulls him down to somewhere near his face and hopes he gets the hint. 

he does. seokwoo’s lips are warm against his, fumbling with the angle and the wetness and chanhee’s complete non-participation - but when seokwoo’s other hand comes up to hold his jaw steady, kissing seokwoo is hot and wet and better than he ever thought it would be. it’s _messy_ , finally, all that lingering hesitation pushed away by seokwoo’s tongue in his mouth, his teeth pulling on his lip whenever chanhee tries to tease him, get him to surrender. 

he’s so close, fucking sharply into seokwoo’s hand, seokwoo’s tongue curling against the roof of his mouth, when he pulls away. now that he’s started he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stifle the frustrated groan that leaves him with seokwoo’s hands if it’ll get them back where they belong. he gets lips on his neck, sucking gently as an apology when seokwoo turns him around. he’s grinning when he pulls away, and maybe this was a good idea because now he can see him, see the anxiety, the fear that isn’t there anymore. it helps, that his hand is back on him a second later, and his mouth. 

kissing like this is much easier, lets him do so much more to make seokwoo shiver. he likes it when chanhee sucks down on his bottom lip, swipes his tongue over his teeth. murmurs his appreciation into his ear, tongue tracing the shell when chanhee has to pull alway, mouth hanging open in quiet gasps as seokwoo strokes him. his other hand trails down his back, settles over his ass and chanhee was almost expecting it, didn’t expect it to feel this good, seokwoo’s fingers teasing the soft skin where his ass curves into his thigh. 

“seokwoo, i’m - ” he tries to tell him, is muffled by seokwoo’s lips on his, rough pressure he gives into easily. leaning all of his weight on seokwoo, he can feel him against his thigh, seokwoo’s knee between his legs, chanhee’s tenuous grip on his arms holding him up. it’s - seconds, and then seokwoo is swallowing his shout as he comes - minutes, lukewarm water washing away the mess on seokwoo’s hands, chanhee’s stomach before he lifts his head. seokwoo sweeps wet hair away from his eyes before he leans down to kiss him again, slow and easy against swollen lips until chanhee shifts, brushes against his cock. it’s chanhee’s hands on his neck that keep him from hitting the wall when he gasps, throws his head back. 

he starts to move them down, takes his time over seokwoo’s chest and hips before a large hand wraps around his wrist, pulls his hand away just before his fingers can skim the sharp muscles that lead down to his length. 

“i - we have to go and i still have to - ” his eyes are squeezed shut, fingers loose around chanhee’s wrist like they’re just barely holding together, but he’s right. he really, really wishes he weren’t, but it feels like forever, an eternity since they’ve been in here, wrapped up in each other. 

“okay,” seokwoo drops his hold on chanhee’s wrist, lets his hand fall to his side with his eyes still shut until - “get on your knees,” spoken softly, but seokwoo still jumps, sinks down onto his knees almost at the same time with wide eyes still fixed on chanhee, lips parted in unspoken surprise. 

chanhee reaches behind him, turns the heat up before he grabs the same shampoo seokwoo had earlier, lathers some between his fingers. when he turns around again, the shock has melted off seokwoo’s face, left him smiling up at chanhee, eyes open long enough to see him smiling back before slipping shut, chanhee’s fingers combing through his hair. 

he takes his time, like seokwoo had. takes in the way he leans into his touch, grips his thighs when chanhee’s nails scrape over his scalp, scratch around his around ears. he tries, holds himself as still as possible, bites down on any sounds he might have made but chanhee can feel him shaking, see his nails digging into his skin, and he wants him relaxed. as loose as he is, at least, and satisfied.   
“it’s okay, touch yourself,” his eyes jump open, mouth parted like he wants to say something but his hands are already lifting off his thighs, words cut off on a moan when chanhee digs his fingers into the base of his skull. 

he listens so well when he’s not playing around and chanhee takes a second to just watch, remember. slowly, he tilts seokwoo’s head back into the spray without taking his eyes off of him, runs the last of the shampoo through his hair before turning for the conditioner. 

against his thigh, full lips in a lingering kiss, and chanhee runs his hand absently through seokwoo’s hair before turning back and rubbing his fingers into it. seokwoo is mostly quiet under him, muscles in his throat working as he swallows, fists himself with rough, quick strokes. when he’s finished, chanhee eases him up with hands on his shoulders, then on his waist for support. he can’t help it, leaning up to kiss down seokwoo’s bared neck, over his chest when he leans his head back against the wall, breath coming in sharp pants. can’t help joining his hand to seokwoo’s, digging his nail into the tip and pushing him over the edge, when he’s laid out for him like this. 

it’s technically cheating, or something, and neither of them feels any sense of urgency in the cloudy, languid moments that come after, chanhee’s hands smoothing soap into seokwoo’s skin. it’s the water that forces them out, sleepy and pruned, when it turns lukewarm and finally cold, shocking them apart and sending them laughing, scrambling out of the shower. 

chanhee wraps himself in a large towel that was probably meant for seokwoo, lets him rub his hair until its damp before they leave. he still pulls chanhee close, buries his nose behind his ear when they’ve used the same shampoo, but chanhee’s never really minded. gives up pretending to, when seokwoo presses a ticklish, short peck to his ear, another to his jaw before he pulls away. he has this sappy, punch drunk look on his face that makes it hard to look him, and it’s all chanhee can do to squeeze his hand, a promise before he leaves. 

seokwoo slaps him on the ass before he turns to leave. chanhee runs back to shove him, sticking his tongue out before heading into his room to find a change of clothes, and that feels a little more like normal, but - 

the rest of it, loving seokwoo doesn’t feel that much different. new, maybe, but something like what was there before. enough that it doesn’t matter. 

later, seokwoo clutches their last tub of ice cream to his chest, spoon clamped tightly between his teeth. chanhee tries everything, gets a hand under his shirt to pinch at his sides, but as silently as he can seokwoo manages to twist away, lifts the half empty carton high above his head and grins, like an asshole. 

the last thing chanhee can do is tug at his shirt, wait until he can pull the spoon easily from seokwoo’s lips and he’s already leaning down to meet him. tastes chocolate and victory, the sticky sweetness of seokwoo’s lips while his arm slowly falls. he might almost sabotage his own plan, lingering after he needs to, but he manages to grab the tub out of seokwoo’s hands, pulls away with the spoon, too, clutched in his other hand. 

on socked feet, he slides down the hallway to his room. seokwoo has to watch, can’t chase him down the hall without waking the others. he gives seokwoo a wave before he closes the door, slowly, so he can appreciate the loss, the devastation in his eyes.

some things change, more things stay the same. seokwoo follows him in, because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go, and accepts his consolation prize of getting to lay his head on chanhee’s chest as he falls asleep with something like grace. he steals one last, sweet kiss before he closes his eyes, and chanhee learns, again, what home tastes like.


End file.
